


second guess

by schuylering (orphan_account)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/schuylering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Alexander seems to defy all the things Aaron knows to be true, though, seems to make a habit of it. Now, with his mouth warm and wet under Aaron's, Aaron thinks he should've seen this coming, should've known that this thing between him and Alexander would never be finished. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	second guess

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact, this is actually the first hamilton fic i ever started writing. i've been sort of fiddling with it on and off for something like five months now, and honestly by this point all my objectivity has been lost, and i just needed to finish it and post it. so here we are.

The party is loud and dark, smelling like sweat and alcohol and Aaron's bored of it, honestly. He wants to spend his Friday night getting drunk in his dorm room, without the pounding music and headache that goes along with it, without the people coursing around him. 

Instead he settles for getting drunk regardless, hanging close to Jefferson and his crew, so all he has to do is look interested, maybe vaguely impressed every once in a while. He thinks it's going to be an easy night, if not an enjoyable one.

The all goes to hell when he looks up from his regrettably empty cup in time to see Alex, walking toward them and holding himself in a very precise, careful way that Aaron knows means he's wasted. Aaron half thinks of standing up, heading him off before this night goes too far south, but by the time he's done second-guessing himself Alex is in front of them. He looks tired, up close. Aaron looks away.

"Yo, Jefferson," Alex says, a dangerous glint in his eye. Despite himself, Aaron gives him a look— _get the fuck out of here_ —but Alex just cocks his eyebrows, turns back to Jefferson. "Heard you got cut from the debate team. That's rough, man."

Jefferson smiles, more a curl of his lip than anything. "Guess you'd know all about it," he says, using his fake, we're-all-friends-here voice. "Heard you didn't even make first cut."

"Guess we don't sound smart enough for their Ivy-League asses," Alex says, still with that dangerous look.

"Speak for yourself, homey," Jefferson says, a lazy smile crawling across his face. "They just couldn't keep up with me." He fistbumps Madison without looking.

"Actually I was speakin for both of us, _homey_ ," Alex replies. His hand is twitching a little against his leg, a bomb just waiting to go off. "I know for a damn fact you got the same speech I did."

"Oh, yeah," Jefferson sneers. "Sure. Says the dude who still talks like he's fresh off the boat."

That's all he needs. Alex lunges for Jefferson, and Aaron goes for him without thinking, gets between them and holds Alex back with an arm around his chest. Alex is spitting invectives, and all Aaron can think about is how small he is, just as narrow-chested and sharp-shouldered as he was the last time Aaron was this close to him, that party after the end of finals freshman year. 

Aaron pushes him back, away from Jefferson and his satisfied sneer. Alex gave him exactly what he wanted, and Aaron wants to shake him. Get in his face, yell at him, _stop proving people right about you_.

Instead he pushes him back, toward the other side of the room. One hand on either shoulder, and they must look stupid, Alex still yelling and tripping backwards, more than a little unsteady.

Aaron shoves him against the wall, harder than he means to. Alex has finally shut up; his back hits the wall and he breathes out a soft _oh_. They stare at each other for a long moment: Aaron feels his heartrate kick up, caught in Alex's gaze still simmering mad.

"Yo," someone says behind him, "everything cool?"

Aaron steps back so fast he almost trips. Laurens is standing a few paces back, hands shoved in his pockets as he stares Aaron down. The fierce, suspicious look on his face should look out of place on him, with his freckles and usual easy smile, but Aaron takes a step back, lets his hand drop cold from Alex's shoulder.

"Yeah," Alex says. "We cool." He looks over at Aaron, who raises his hands, as if to say he's not a part of this. 

Laurens glances over at him. Laurens has never liked him, Aaron knows. The petty part of him wants to think it's jealousy—word is that Laurens is straight, with rumors about him knocking up a girl back in high school to prove it, but Aaron thinks anyone who's seen him around Alex knows that's bullshit—but there's another part of him that sees what Laurens sees. Aaron knows what he and Alex look like on the outside, ex-fuck buddies who can't seem to let an old grudge go. The description rings hollow, but that's okay, Aaron thinks. He wouldn't try to explain it even if he could.

"I should go," Aaron finally says, after a long, tense moment. 

"Yeah," Laurens says. "I think that'd be a good idea."

Aaron wants to roll his eyes at Laurens's macho bullshit, or whatever it is, but restrains himself. He can't quite keep himself from looking over his shoulder at Alex, though, as he walks away: Alex is saying something— _The hell you gonna do to him, huh? You gonna fight for my honor?_ —and he's grinning that grin he only gets around Laurens. Aaron looks away again, and walks out without glancing back again.

 

 

"Hey," Alexander says, reaching out, thoughtless, and grabbing Aaron's sweater sleeve.

Aaron stops, steps out of the way of the remaining students heading for the door. "Alexander," he says, trying to sound vaguely disapproving. The classroom is emptying out rapidly around them: someone's backpack clocks Aaron on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Alex says, "listen, we got that forum with the president tomorrow, man, you gonna be there? You been ignoring my texts."

Aaron wants to say he ignores Alexander's texts on principle, but he wants to get out of here without starting one of their inevitable fights and, also, it's not as true as he'd like it to be. "I might," he says. "I'll see if I can make it."

Alex just stares at him for a second. "This is important, man," he says, and his eyes have got that steely glint Aaron's had so much experience with.

"I know," Aaron says, knowing he sounds placating, knowing that'll only rile Alex but he can't seem to do anything to stop it. 

"Listen," Alex says, "you got somethin to say, say it."

They're alone in the classroom now, hollow and empty. Alex's voice seems to echo.

Aaron's going to brush him off, get out of here, but something stops him; he'd like to say it's charity, giving Alexander some much-needed advice, but the small back part of his brain he tries at all times to smother tells him it's that look in Alex's eye, the gunflint look he could never walk away from.

"You shouldn't do the forum," Aaron tells him. "You're moving too fast. You need to stop being so aggressive about this thing with the president."

"Excuse me?" Alex looks at him like he doesn't quite believe it. "Less aggressive? Also— _this thing with the president_ , man, really? It's not a thing, it's a—"

"Yeah, I know," Aaron says quickly. "I'm just saying, you'll never get anywhere if you keep shouting about life being unfair, pushing President King. He already thinks you're a bunch of thugs, why give him a reason?"

"You," Alex says, and Aaron looks up at the clean clear vitriol in his voice. "You are un-fuckin-believable, you know that?"

"Oh, I'm unbelievable?" Aaron asks calmly. "I'm just offering advice."

"You know you supposed to be on our side, right?" Alex says, like he didn't even hear him. "At least, that's where you said you were. Our side. We been fightin our asses off, trying to get King to hear what we got to say, and now, what, you think you gonna swoop in with your great advice—stop talking, paste some phony smiles on our faces and ask King, nicely, if we could please pucker up and kiss his pasty white ass?"

"No," Aaron says impatiently. "It just might be better if you. . .held off for a while."

"So, what?" Alex says. "What you sayin, huh? You don't believe no more? This ain't getting you political points no more, so you just gonna drop it? What?"

"I'm not saying anything," Aaron says, holding out his arms in surrender, or like a shield against Alex's quick-spit accusations. 

"Exactly!" Alex says. "You ain't sayin a goddamn word. I thought you was with us on this. I mean, damn, Thomas fuckin Jefferson is with us on this, man, and you sayin you out?"

"I never said I was out," Aaron says carefully.

"Then what the fuck are you saying, huh?" Alex says, pushing back, always pushing back; he shoves Aaron in the chest, short and sharp. Not like he's trying to knock him down, but just like he's trying to see if Aaron will respond to that, to anything.

Aaron won't; he won't. "You need to calm down," he tells Alex.

"Jesus," Alex huffs, but he steps back. "Fuck, you know what—we don't need your shit. Have fun bein president of the fuckin yacht club or whatever."

"Sure."

"Yeah. Have a nice life."

Neither of them move: Alex is glaring like he could burn a hole through Aaron's chest if he tried, and Aaron believes it, Aaron thinks he could. The way Alex's eyes on him make him feel, even like this, glinting and glaring and mad, is enough to char out his ribcage.

They move together, crashing up against each other, hands everywhere and lips barely touching before Aaron has his mouth on Alex's throat, can feel more than hear his moan. They haven't done this in a long time, not since that party end of freshman year in the bathroom of Young Hall that Aaron still can't go inside because all he can think about in the tile pressing patterns against his palms, the mirror's slick slide across his back. The next year it was back to snapping at each other and then it was Eliza and then it was the fallout from Eliza and Aaron thought maybe it was over and he was fine with that, he was. He'd forget about Alexander Hamilton with his clever fingers and cleverer words. Aaron can make his mind do whatever he wants it to, and if that isn't true he doesn't know what is, what could be.

Alexander seems to defy all the things Aaron knows to be true, though, seems to make a habit of it. Now, with his mouth warm and wet under Aaron's, Aaron thinks he should've seen this coming, should've known that this thing between him and Alexander would never be finished. 

But none of this is enough to make him stop. Alex moans softly, so openly turned on Aaron almost feels embarrassed. Alex shows too much of himself during sex, Aaron's always thought; the way his eyes go soft and his body goes pliant, the way he curves around Aaron like Aaron's the one holding him up. He lets Aaron do whatever he wants to him, and that scares Aaron badly.

 

 

Aaron goes to the forum with the president. He comes in late, slipping himself between the wall and a disinterested-looking sophomore, but he goes and he watches Alex ask too many questions and push too hard and it's like watching a train wreck, Aaron thinks, even as he himself can't look away.

 

 

"I saw you at the forum last week," Alexander tells him, voice disarmingly lazy, almost mumbled. He has an arm slung over Aaron's stomach, his face pressed against Aaron's shoulder. Aaron should kick him out—this is Aaron's dorm room, and this wasn't even supposed to happen, and, and—but he's feeling strangely content. He knows it's a chemical reaction to getting off, nothing more, but still. Alexander's skin is warm, body pressed against his side, and Aaron thinks, just a few more minutes.

"Hm," is all Aaron says.

"I'm just sayin."

"You're always _just saying_."

He can feel Alex smile against his shoulder. It's times like this that he remembers with a discomforting twist in his stomach that they had been good, sometimes, in between the yelling and the sleeping with other people and the uncomfortable feeling Aaron got sometimes that they were only fucking to avoid doing something worse to each other. There were times when knowing each other too well was a comfort rather than a source of ammunition, when they argued just to argue and it became more a conversation than anything. When Alex would show up at his door on a night like this, tired and rumpled with his hair sticking up and bruises under his eyes, and they would fuck slower than usual and Alex would fall asleep accidentally in Aaron's bed. Aaron would never catch him leaving—Alex gets up at some insane time of the morning that no one should ever spend awake—but he'd steal one of Aaron's shirts to wear and if Aaron saw him that day he'd always be distracted, watching Alex in Aaron's own slightly-to-big-on-him clothes, eyes betraying him as they followed Alex carefully.

"Yo," Alex says, craning his head up to catch Aaron's eye. They've been lying here long enough that he has crease marks from the sheets pressed into his cheek. "You listening to me?"

Aaron just closes his eyes. "No."

"You're a dick," Alex says. "I'm bein serious here, man. You'd be good. I know you think it ain't your thing, but—"

"What are we talking about?" Aaron asks wearily.

"The articles, man," Alex says emphatically. "I'm writing a whole series a them, talkin about all the shit that goes on in this school. Convince people, you know. It's gonna be anonymous, no one's gotta know it's you." He looks at Aaron, eyes wide and eager. His face is too close, only inches away from Aaron's own. "C'mon. Help me out."

"What—writing these articles?" Aaron asks. Alex nods, like this should be obvious. Aaron coughs out a laugh. "No."

Alex frowns a little. "Why not?" he challenges. 

"Because," Aaron says. He closes his eyes again, knowing he should've just kicked Alex out and avoided this conversation altogether. 

"No, I'm serious," Alex says. "I know you believe in this same as the rest of us. Fuck, you went to the forum even after you said all that shit about it bein too much or whatever."

"That doesn't mean anything," Aaron says. Snaps, really, and something in Alex's eyes changes, the brightness dulled. Or just closed off, not for Aaron to see anymore.

But Alex doesn't give up without a fight, won't ever give up at all, so he says, "I don't get you." His chin is tilted up stubbornly. "I know you care, you just won't do nothing about it," he says, like he knows Aaron, like somehow he alone can see past the walls Aaron has very carefully constructed, brick by brick. Aaron clenches his jaw. "Or maybe you just don't care at all," Alex goes on, something bitter in the tilt of his mouth. He says it like it's the worst insult he can think of, and hearing it Aaron thinks for a brief second that maybe it is.

Aaron opens his mouth to defend himself, but nothing comes out. Alex pushes himself up from where he'd still been lying half on top of Aaron. "I gotta go," he says, and climbs over Aaron to get out of the bed.

Aaron watches him walk around the room, gathering his torn-off clothes from the floor. Part of Aaron is grateful he's spared him from having to kick him out; an equally persistent part of him, though, watches Alex pull his clothes back on with something like regret. 

"See you around," Alex says, his voice flat in that way Aaron knows means he's trying not to show too much of himself—a lost cause, Aaron knows, Alex revealing his own thoughts and feelings like a reflex. 

"Yeah," Aaron says, just as casual. He's better at this game than Alex is, always has been.

Alex glances back at him for just a second, before grabbing his backpack from where he dropped it next to the door. "Yeah," he says, and walks out.

 

 

It's a few days before Aaron hears about it, but when he does he knows exactly what it is. He clicks the link, and there it is, a plain, default blog layout with a single post that must be at least five thousand words long.

Aaron reads all of it, even though he knows by the first, overly long paragraph that it's Alex's work. He focuses on what's wrong with it, to distract himself from the fact that it's—not bad. Run-on sentences, overly complicated syntax. Repetition—he could cut out at least half and still make his point.

Aaron closes his laptop, firmly, once he realizes he's started to reread, think of actual paragraphs to point out to Alex— _cut that, reword that, add some damn commas_. This isn't his problem.

 

 

"So," Alex says, in between sucking bruises over Aaron's collarbone, "you read it?"

Aaron tightens his fingers in Alex's shirt, nails dragging over the tissue-thin cotton. He stops himself from gasping as Alex's teeth hint over one of the tender spots, but lets his head fall back against the bathroom door. "No."

"Liar." Aaron can feel Alex's smirk against his skin, Alex's head still ducked against his throat. 

The muffled sounds of the party filter through to them, music and chatter, a baseline the makes the floor shudder under their feet. It's unsettling, being able to hear but not quite. It's unsettling, that Alex knows him well enough to know when he's lying. Aaron's always prided himself on being an excellent liar, and he doesn't like the idea of Alex being an exception to anything.

"What did you think?" Alex asks, and Aaron can't really tell, Alex's face still ducked against his throat, but he thinks he voice has an odd vulnerable note to it.

He's probably imagining it. "You need an editor," he says, before he realizes how clearly it tips his hand.

Alex looks up, eyes bright and reflecting the only light in the room, a nightlight with a bare blue bulb. They hadn't flipped on the overhead when they'd stumbled in here, but Aaron had locked the door. He wonders what that says about him, about them.

Alex looks half smug he'd gotten Aaron to admit something, half pissed about what he'd said. It's a strange look, make stranger by the long, hazy-edged shadows. "No I don't."

"Sure," Aaron says agreeably, but that only intensifies Alex's pissed-off look. 

"Name one paragraph that needs editing."

Aaron raises his eyebrows. "I didn't read it, remember?"

Alex shakes his head. "You're such a dick. I'm serious." His hand tightens on Aaron waist, fingers digging into his skin. "C'mon. Prove you ain't just bullshitting."

_I don't need to prove anything to you_ , Aaron wants to say, no matter than he has an   
uncomfortable feeling that it isn't true at all. 

 

 

A new post goes up later that night, at 6:04 in the morning. Where Aaron sees it, three hours later, he feels a weird pull when he looks at the timestamp, knowing Alex hadn't gone to bed after the party, knowing he's probably now entering the thirties or forties of hours without sleep.

There's a text waiting for him on his phone. _Have fun not reading it_. Aaron clears the conversation before jamming the phone back in his pocket.

He does read it, on his phone in the dining hall. It's fine. Alex should've cut at least a third of it.

_Prove you ain't just bullshitting_ , Alex's voice tells him inside his head. Aaron clenches his jaw, shutting off his phone and focusing wholly on his half-eaten plate of food.

 

 

The door opens, and Laurens stares back at him, scowling a little when he sees it's Aaron. "Yeah?"

Aaron's thrown, briefly: he's only been to Alex's apartment a couple of times, and never when Laurens was there. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone but Alex would open the door, which was stupid, he's realizing now.

He takes a breath. Says, "Is Alex here?"

Laurens's expression darkens slightly, though Aaron can't imagine why else he thought Aaron might be here. "Nope," he says. "I'll tell him you were here." He starts to close the door, clearly ending the conversation.

"Tell Alex I'll do it," Aaron says, before he can talk himself out of it, before Laurens can close the door. He's vaguely aware even as he says it that it's the first he's called him _Alex_ , out loud, since they crashed and burned the first time.

Laurens looks a little surprised, a little confused. A little mad, the way he had when he opened the door, like he's preparing himself for whatever Aaron will inevitably do to piss him off.

"Sure," he says after a moment, still giving Aaron a weird look. "Whatever, man. I'll tell him."

"Thanks," Aaron makes himself say, and Laurens just nods shortly. He closes the door, and Aaron wait to feel that wave of regret and self-recrimination, _why the fuck did you say anything, idiot. Just keep your mouth shut_.

It doesn't come, at least not yet. He walks away from Alex's apartment, and feels better than he has in a while.

 

 

Aaron startles awake that night to frantic, determined knocking. He swears, and, when the knocking shows no sign of slowing down, pushes himself out of bed.

Alex stands outside his door, a little out of breath, a little wild-eyed. "John said you came over."

It takes him a second to put together the way Alex says _John_ with Laurens's scowling face. "I was asleep."

"Sorry."

"You could've texted."

"My phone's dead," Alex tells him. He's looking slightly less certain than he had, which makes Aaron's stomach twist in a way he doesn't like to think about. It's just not a look Alex should ever have, he thinks, uncertain: something about it doesn't sit right with him.

"I'm not writing anything for the," Aaron waves his hand, "blog."

"It's more than—"

"I know," Aaron says, and tries to convey, somehow, in his sleep-addled mind, that he's saying it because he really does know, he's not just saying it to get Alex to shut up. "I'm not writing anything. And I won't have my name anywhere on it. But if you need—an editor, or something, I'll do it." He closes his mouth over his stuttering words. He never stutters. He never says _or something_. He swallows.

Alex starts grinning, and starts biting at the corners of his mouth to keep the grin contained. "I don't need an editor," he says stubbornly, but he's never been a good liar.

"Sure," Aaron says, and he's not smiling, he's not, but he's at least self-aware enough to know about the soft way he looks at Alex, despite himself: he's at least self-aware enough to know that he's doing it now. "Of course. But if you ever—"

"Yeah," Alex says, nodding, "yes. I do. You're on." He stops trying to push back the grin, letting it flood his face, his eyes shining. "Actually, I was thinkin—"

Aaron shakes his head. "Right now, I'm sleeping," he says firmly. 

Alex nods. "Course."

"You should, too," he says, and he still can't say anything more, can't make it into more of an invitation, but he leaves the door open as he goes back into the room, and Alex gets it, following him and shutting the door behind him. He sheds his backpack and sweatshirt and jeans, and crawls into Aaron's bed next to him, pushing his face against Aaron's shoulder. His warm breath flutters the sleeve of Aaron's t-shirt, and Aaron closes his eyes, something complicated but nice, warm, in his chest. He falls asleep before he can doubt it, Alex's head heavy on his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me [on tumblr](http://schuylering.tumblr.com/)


End file.
